


The Paladin of Tyranny

by KayQy



Category: Dungeons and Dragons (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M, but i can't think of what, fanfic of a fanfic, honestly i'm just so happy to be posting this, snarking with the gods, there should be other tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 22:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5602897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KayQy/pseuds/KayQy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I swear it seems like our entire life in this world has been a series of lessons about not getting too full of myself, and now I’m suddenly worthy of being a hero for a god?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paladin of Tyranny

**Author's Note:**

  * For [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Desecrated Temple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099636) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I finally finished it~
> 
> (It's not really necessary to have seen the cartoon, as long as you know that these six kids were pulled from our world into this magical one and each given totems that roughly correspond to character classes, and this fic presumes that they decided not to go back home at the end of the series. However, you should probably read astolat's fic first to really get some of the references. Go ahead, it's short, I'll wait.)
> 
> Okay, so obviously the biggest thanks go to Astolat, for inspiring me with her fic, giving me permission to run with it, a great beta, and most importantly for then waiting a year and a half while I failed to complete anything writerly. >.> Thanks also go to my friend evanafter for constant encouragement, and to the Writing Excuses podcast and their Out of Excuses writing retreat this fall, which gave me the tools, motivation, and confidence to see editing as an exciting challenge rather than a daunting obstacle and finally get this thing done.
> 
> *gets out of the way and lets the words flow* >.>

As the fishing village came into view, the party gave out a general sigh of relief, and Eric declared, “About freaking time.”

Hank kind of agreed with him. Dungeon Master had a bad habit of leaving them to their own devices until he had a quest to swoop them off to, but they didn’t often get left a full week away from any roads or signs of civilization. If Eric hadn’t insisted on going this direction until they could follow the coastline, they would have been wandering even longer. “Good job leading us here,” he said to Eric.

Diana snorted. “You mean good job picking a random direction and lucking out that it led somewhere?”

“It wasn’t random,” Eric retorted. “I was following the sound of the ocean, like any reasonable person lost in the forest would.”

“You were hearing the ‘sound of the ocean’ two hours before any of the rest of us could,” Sheila said. “Forgive us for being a little skeptical at first.”

“Not my fault you all have moss in your ears,” Eric muttered, but he wouldn’t look at Hank— well, he’d barely looked at Hank since they’d defeated the Scourge of the Labyrinth; now he wasn’t looking at any of them. “Come on, let’s go see if they have an inn. I am in desperate need of a real bed and a bath, in no particular order. A nice, long, hot bath, or anything above freezing, really…”

"Sorry I couldn't conjure up a jacuzzi," Presto said with a roll of his eyes.

Eric waved a hand. "It's not that the kiddie pool wasn't fun, but it was lacking massaging jets."

“You okay, Hank?” Bobby said. “Your face is really red.”

“I’m fine,” Hank said quickly, and did his best to banish any thought of massaging anythings. “Race you to the bottom of the hill?”

“You’re on!” Bobby dashed ahead of them all, Uni gamboling close behind.

The village did, in fact, have an inn, a cozy little two-story building on the road leading from the town (the opposite direction that the party came from, of course). Hank liked the look of it, and not just because it was the first actual building they'd seen in over a week. A boy a bit younger than Bobby was sweeping the entryway, but he stopped to stare as the party walked up the road.

"Excuse us," Hank said, "do you have any rooms--"

"Dru!" the boy shouted. He dropped the broom and ran inside, still shouting, "Dru, the heroes are here to save the temple!"

"Temple?" Hank looked blankly at the rest of the group, who all shrugged back at him equally blankly.

"Thank the gods, it's about time you showed up!" A young woman bustled out. "I mean I'm sure you got here as fast as you could, it's just the high priest said help was coming soon, but you know priests, they have a funny sense of time, so we were a bit worried. Anyway, I don't want you to think we're ungrateful, we really are." She smiled brightly and put one hand on Diana's shoulder and wrapped the other around Eric's arm. "I’m Drucila, this is my family’s inn, and while you're saving the town, you really must stay here. On me." She glanced at Eric and blushed. "I mean the rooms are on me."

"As long as there's a bed involved, I'm all for it," Eric said.

"Eric!" Sheila hissed.

"Did you think I wasn’t serious before? Does anyone even remember the last time we didn't have to rough it? My back needs something softer than rocks and sticks for a night or two." Eric stretched, and Hank quickly focused back on the innkeeper.

"That's, uh, a very generous offer," he said, "but we should probably go to the temple first and learn more about the situation."

“Oh, but if you just wait a moment, my brother Dak will be returning to the temple— he’s an acolyte, very devoted, but he comes every day to help out while Mum’s laid up, so when he takes our offerings back he can guide you there, and really, wouldn’t it be so much more comfortable to leave your baggage here rather than carrying it around all day? We’ve got three rooms upstairs that would be just perfect for you, I’m sure Dak will be ready by the time you settle in, and I can whip up a nice dinner as soon as you’re done at the temple…”

As she talked, Drucila gently tugged Diana and Eric through the door, the rest of the party following in her wake automatically. “All right, then, thank you,” Hank said, as if it wasn’t already a done deal. He was probably being unreasonable anyway, rejecting her offer so quickly.

They made their way up the stairs, and Sheila and Diana claimed the first room for themselves. “Hey Bobby, why don’t you bunk with me tonight?” Hank said.

“Really?” said Bobby. “Uni, too?”

Hank hid a wince. “Sure, Uni too. Presto can conjure up some earplugs to sleep through Eric’s snoring, right, Presto?”

“I do not snore!” Eric objected. He turned to Drucilla. "Vicious lies, all of it. Don't pay him any attention."

She giggled and winked on her way back down the stairs, and Hank ignored the knot in his gut, because it was none of his business if Eric flirted with every innkeeper and barmaid and shepherdess they met…

But as Bobby and Uni claimed one room, and Presto went into the last one, Eric muttered next to Hank’s ear, “Nice room assignments, coach. Afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?”

“I thought we weren’t talking about it,” Hank snapped, much more bitterly than he’d intended. He couldn’t help but add, “And if we were, I would point out just who started what in the labyrinth…”

Eric turned a satisfying shade of pink. “Right, yes, nothing to talk about.” He turned away, and added, “It’s just, do you have to be so obvious about avoiding me?”

“Me avoiding you?” Hank belatedly lowered his voice and hissed, “If anything, I am taking a hint from the fact that _you’re_ avoiding _me_ , and giving you the space you so _obviously_ want!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Hank, though he was tempted to say yes. “Anyway, not everything’s about you. I just thought it would be good to spend some time with Bobby, okay?”

“Sure,” drawled Eric. He shoved past Hank and stomped over to his room. “Well, have fun playing big brother tonight, hope you enjoy sharing your bed with a wild animal that kicks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time!” Hank retorted. _Oh god, did I really just say that? That has got to be the stupidest comeback in the history of universe…_ He fled into his own room before Eric could say anything else, and flopped face-first onto the bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bobby said. “You’re really red again.” Uni bleated an agreement.

“I may have gotten a bit too much sun,” Hank lied. Maybe he’d get lucky and a dragon would come and eat him. 

~*~*~

“What the hell did he mean by that?” Eric demanded of nobody in particular. He flopped onto the bed with a huff. 

"Please tell me that's a rhetorical question," Presto said, setting his bag down by the bed. "I somehow doubt it's safe for me to answer it."

"I will make you eat your hat if you try," Eric said.

"Wow, this must be bad. You haven't threatened to make me eat my hat in ages."

Eric grimaced. "I'd say sorry for always being a dick, but you'd just ask me if I had a fever.”

"Probably," Presto agreed. He sat on a corner of the bed that Eric wasn't sprawled on and shook out his hat. Eric heard a few clinks, a clank, and one rather odd clunk, but didn't bother to look, even when Presto muttered, "Oh, that's where that went..." Instead he rolled onto his side and poked at the mattress. Not exactly the fancy waterbed he'd had back in the other world, or even the fine feather mattresses they'd been offered by royalty and nobility, but still worlds above a bedroll on rocky ground. It seemed to be stuffed with some sort of seagrass, softer and less scratchy than straw, with a fresh, clean scent that Eric found soothing.

But seriously, what the hell had Hank meant? Even now, Eric was tempted to laugh. He wasn’t sure which of them that comeback had actually insulted, and it was especially absurd considering the two of them had yet to actually share a bed. Bedroll on the ground, sure, though even then it was usually everyone piled together to conserve body heat. Plus there’d been that one time in a tree, which he refused to count just on principle. But an actual bed, like this one? Nope.

And it wasn’t like he'd had _expectations_ , that would be absurd, but the thought had crossed his mind once or twice. Wondering if they'd act as normal around each other if they had a little privacy. (The answer to that was apparently a big fat HA.) If it would be more awkward or less without the post-battle and/or -possession adrenaline rush. And yes, wondering if it would be better in a bed than on the ground or the stone wall of an underground labyrinth. And even if it was the stupidest comeback in the history of comebacks, the thought of being the ‘wild animal’ in Hank’s bed was— well, it was—

Presto poked Eric in the side. "Scoot over, if we've got five minutes I want a nap." Eric sat up with a grumble. "I didn't say you had to get _off_ the bed," Presto said, laying down.

"Yeah, you're not the one I want to share a bed with," Eric said. "No offense."

"Same here." Presto yawned. "But since the one you do want is busy, might as well get some shut-eye..."

"Oh, he's always busy," Eric muttered, "always got some responsible leaderly thing to be spending his time on—" He snapped his mouth shut.

Too late. Presto was already gaping at him like a fish, wide awake. "I, uh, meant that innkeeper girl, but.... you and Hank?"

"No," Eric said immediately. "No, nope, nuh-uh, there is no me and Hank, you don't know what you're talking about." He turned and paced the room, hoping his face wasn't too obviously red.

"I guess that explains why you two have been acting weird around each other lately."

"We have not been— how have we been acting weird?" Eric demanded. "Wait, no, don't answer that, because we are not talking about this. There is nothing to talk about."

"Right."

Eric picked up his shield and pretended to polish it while he tried not to die of utter mortification. Bad enough he'd let that slip, but to be caught complaining like some jilted girlfriend? _Pathetic_.

Presto let out a short laugh, and Eric immediately bristled. "If you have a problem—"

"No," the wizard said quickly. "Not with you guys being together, or not, whichever, I mean, as long as you're happy, right? I was just thinking it's kind of funny."

"Oh, well, _so_ glad I could provide you some amusement," Eric snapped.

"Not you! I just thought—well, it’s kind of ironic, since according to the football team back home, I should be the gay one.”

Eric paused. "Are you?" he couldn't help asking.

Presto shrugged. "I dunno. Honestly, the thought of sex with _anyone_ seems kind of gross. No offense."

Eric waved his hand in a magnanimous gesture. "None taken."

“Anyway, after all their insistence that being weak and nerdy meant I was gay, it’d be kind of funny to see their reaction to two of the strongest guys I know _actually_ being gay.”

“It’s not that I don’t like girls, too,” Eric felt obligated to point out, even though it was more or less a confession of what he still wasn’t talking about, thank you very much.

Presto shrugged. “They’re the last people I’d want showing up in this world, anyway.” He looked down at his hat. “You know, I hadn’t thought about them in ages until Dungeon Master finally opened up that portal home…. And then all I could think was, why would I want to go back to being called names and shoved into lockers?” He looked up. “Is that lame? That makes it sound like I just stayed because monsters are less scary than bullies, but I just-- augh, it's complicated."

"It's not lame," said Eric, surprised by the confession. It was an unspoken rule that they never asked each other why they had all, to a person, decided to stay in this world after having tried for so long to go home. “At least most of the stuff trying to kill us in this world is straightforward about it.”

"Exactly. And it's not like it was just about them," Presto said. "I mean, there’s the magic, of course, and how we're doing something important here, something that, you know, is bigger than just us. It means something."

“…..Yeah,” Eric said softly.

After a moment of silence, in which Eric tried to pretend that there was no expectation of him sharing his own reasons for staying, Presto stood up and put his hat back on. “Anyway, don't worry, I won't tell the others; that's your thing to tell, if you ever want to. I don't think they'd freak out, though."

Eric breathed a sigh of relief, more at the heart-to-heart being over than out of any real concern that Presto would blab. “Thanks.”

~*~*~

Drucila’s acolyte brother Dakcil wasn’t the same brother who’d been sweeping the porch when they’d arrived— apparently she had several. Hank wondered if they were all this talkative. At least Dak’s chatter helped distract him from Eric purposely keeping the rest of the party between them. Mostly. Sort of. “We may not be as large or fancy as some of the temples in the port towns or the capital,” the boy was saying now, “but we were the very first temple to S’plach, and we still house the oldest of his holy relics.”

"Wait, your god is named Splotch?" Eric interrupted. Diana elbowed him sharply.

“S’plach,” Dak corrected. “And our high priest Fuzel is perhaps the holiest of the priests. It’s thanks to his prayers and rites that the miasma was dispelled the first time— I’d like to see any of the priests from the big towns do that! It’s no wonder that the dark god Freni’s forces are trying to attack him directly, now.”

“I suppose that’s where we come in,” Hank said, trying to ignore the shoving match Eric and Diana had devolved to.

“Probably,” Dak said cheerfully. “I’m still pretty new for an acolyte, but Fuzel said that help had been promised us and here you are!”

“How convenient of us to show up now,” Eric muttered.

“What’s got you in a worse mood than usual?” Sheila whispered.

“Nothing,” Eric said. “I just want to get this over with.”

“Over with?” Dak repeated.

“He means the sooner we can help keep everyone safe, the better,” Hank said, and very pointedly ignored Eric muttering under his breath.

“Oh, of course! Well then, here we are,” Dak said with a dramatic gesture.

Even after listening to Dak talk about it, the temple was not quite what Hank had imagined. He'd figured that it wouldn't be as... excessive as the last temple they'd visited, but this was actually rather, well, humble. Barely larger than a normal house, only the bell tower rose above the surrounding buildings. The walls were the color of sand, with some simple shell patterns carved above the doors and windows, and a small vegetable garden filling over half of the yard. It looked more like the cozy house of a grandmother from some heartwarming children's story than a place to worship an all-powerful god. It was, in fact, the exact opposite of most of the temples they’d visited in the course of their adventuring.

On the whole, Hank thought that was definite mark in this god S’plach’s favor.

The inside was just as simple: one large room with worn but neat benches lined up in front of an altar that held a piece of gnarled driftwood, which Dak identified as the ancient relic he’d mentioned earlier. A couple of doorways led off to presumably either prayer rooms or the priest’s living quarters, and though the windows were small, a fresh sea breeze blew gently through the room.

An elderly man, nearly as short as Dungeon Master but with dusky purple skin that crinkled around the edges, knelt by the altar as they entered. “High Priest Fuzel, here are the heroes, just like you promised!” Dak announced.

“It’s an honor to meet you, High Priest,” Sheila said.

“Please, you will call me Fuzel.” The old priest smiled and slowly rose to his feet; his young acolyte quickly helped him up. “Wonderful, thank you, Dakcil, just take that basket from your sister to the kitchen now, would you? A fine boy,” he added as Dak obediently ran off. “I am quite pleased that you have arrived; he said that you would be here soon, but you know how it is, our idea of soon and his don’t always match up.”

“He who?” said Hank. “Do you mean Dungeon Master?”

“If it was Dungeon Master, why didn’t he guide us here directly instead of letting us wander around the forest for a week?” Diana muttered.

“Hmph, he is hardly the only one in this world who can lead people where they’re needed,” Fuzel said dismissively. “That old coot.”

Hank choked back a laugh and waited for Eric to declare that the priest was obviously a great judge of character and he liked his style— Hank possibly was far more entertained by Eric and Dungeon Master’s personality clashes than he should be, but he had to admit that the cavalier often had a point. Except no snarky comment occurred. Instead, Eric was staring at the driftwood relic. “Eric?”

Eric jumped and turned away. "I'll, uh, I'll just wait outside," he said, voice rough.

"Are you okay?" Sheila said.

"Are you _crying_?" Bobby said.

"No!" Eric wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's just dust or something. I'm fine. I'll just be out in the courtyard, okay?"

"....Sure," Hank said.

Eric walked out of the temple without looking back, almost running by the time he reached the door.

“What’s up with him today?” said Diana.

“How should I know?” Hank said, and hoped he didn’t sound too defensive.

The priest, Hank noticed, watched Eric go with a small, mysterious smile.

After a moment, Sheila said to Fuzel, “Could you explain to us what’s happened, and how we can help?”

“Of course, of course,” Fuzel said. “Our first sign that something was wrong was when travellers started disappearing from the western road. Pilgrims, merchants, several locals who left and never returned… we haven’t had a visitor reach us in at least a month. It’s just as well you came through the forest, you probably avoided whatever trap or ambush they’ve set on the road.”

“How did you know we came through the forest?” Presto said.

“Eight days ago,” the priest continued, “one of the villagers who’d vanished returned, but changed. He had been possessed by the evil god Freni, and was used as a conduit to spread a contagion. Thanks to our lord S’plach and his holy relic,” he bowed towards the piece of driftwood on the altar, “we were able to purify the village, but sadly, I was unable to save the one held in thrall.”

“How do you know which god was possessing him?” Hank asked.

“There are several ways to know, if you are trained in looking for the signs,” Fuzel said. “The first clue was when the enthralled one proclaimed that the god Freni will send his servant Tyranos to smite and conquer his enemies.”

“Subtlety is not this realm’s strong point,” Diana remarked. “Look, we’re happy to help, but wouldn’t a priest be better suited to go up against another priest?”

“It is no mere priest that we must contend with,” Fuzel said. “I fear that this Tyranos is in fact a _paladin_.”

~*~*~

Eric stood in the temple yard and seriously considered just keeping on going. Back to the inn, let the rest of the party catch up with him later. Or maybe just keep going down the road, out of town, and away from…. from too-familiar buildings and relics he’d never seen before, from this sensation that was somewhere between deja-vu and coming home. He still wasn’t ready to name it or even acknowledge it, but he could feel it barreling down on him, as inexorable as the sea he could hear crashing against the bluff.

He’d paced between the edge of the yard and the door half a dozen times when he saw Drucila coming towards the temple. "Hey, Drucila," he called. "Did we forget something?"

She flinched away from him, which yeah, a bit rough on his pride, he wasn't exactly an ogre, but mainly it was weird. She'd had no problem flirting—er, being friendly— at the inn. Plus, the smile she put on was a far cry from the bright and hopeful grins she'd had earlier-- merely a stretch of the lips. "I came to pray for a blessing," she said.

"I thought your brother did all the praying for your family." She stared at him blankly, then slowly backed away and walked slowly into the temple. She didn't even _walk_ the same. "Yeah, that's not at all suspicious," Eric muttered. Even if she weren’t acting like she’d had a complete brain transplant, there was a twisting in his gut, a pull that was growing harder to ignore, no matter how much he wanted to.

Okay. So he could let the rest of the party handle whatever was wrong without him, and they’d probably be fine.

_Or I could grow a pair and worry about my own issues later._

Whatever could turn such a lively person into a stilted puppet…. It wasn’t such a difficult choice after all. He adjusted his shield and followed her back inside.

~*~*~

"What's a paladin?" Bobby asked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hank saw Drucila from the inn enter the temple, with Eric not far behind. _Oh, sure, when a pretty girl shows up, then he wants to stick around_. He turned his back on the two of them and focused on the priest again, because _one_ of them had to be responsible.

“It’s a kind of holy warrior, isn’t it?” Sheila asked.

Suddenly Eric shoved Hank to the side, placing himself and his shield between the high priest and the barmaid, who was trying to stab a knife that glistened sickly green into the transparent dome created by Eric's shield. 

Diana recovered first and swung her staff to first push Drucila back, then knock the poisoned blade from her hand.

"Careful! She's possessed!"

"You think?" Eric blocked another attempted lunge at the priest while Hank helped the priest up and out of the way.

"Then how are we supposed to stop her?" Bobby said, swinging his club uncertainly.

"Hell if I know!" Eric hadn't bothered to draw his sword, focusing instead on blocking the enthralled woman's attempts to dart past or around him, but the dodging was clearly wearing him down.

Hank looked at the priest. "Could you exorcise her?"

"If necessary," Fuzel said solemnly, seeming not a bit put out by this attempt on his life. "I must pray."

"Right." Hank pulled his bow off his shoulder. Maybe a net arrow would slow her down long enough for Fuzel's prayers to reach his god or however miracles worked....

Then Drucila tripped over Uni while lunging for the poisoned knife, landing her solidly on top of Eric, who grunted at the impact, then yelped as the possessed girl started hissing. No, her body was hissing, releasing a putrid smoke from her skin that left the entire party coughing. It was all the more hideous for the fact that the power which held her in thrall did not allow her to scream. She simply leaned closer into Eric, whose eyes were already streaming from proximity to the fumes.

But then Eric dropped his shield and grabbed her face, in a startlingly familiar gesture. Hank felt the goosebumps rising on his skin even before Eric said, with a voice as deep as the ocean, " _Be free_."

There was a wave of light like the tide going out, sweeping away the filth and miasma from the temple. Hank shivered with a frisson of memory as Drucila sat back, blinking as if she had just awakened, then burst into tears in Eric's arms.

"What just happened?" said Sheila.

Fuzel knelt and draped a mantle over Drucila’s shoulders, then coaxed her around enough to accept a drink from a flask he produced from some hidden pocket. “It is an honor to witness this moment,” he said to Eric.

“Since when can you exorcise people?” Diana demanded.

“And why didn’t you tell us?” added Bobby.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Eric said, awkwardly patting Drucila’s back.

“This is new, right?” Presto said. “We’ve never had to depossess someone before, so it’s not like you’d have known, right?”

“Um.”

Everyone turned to look at Hank. He tried not to cringe; this was going to be so awkward, but some things were more important than dignity, right? “I guess we’ll have to talk about it after all,” he said to Eric.

“No we don’t,” Eric said. “I would be fine with continuing to not talk about it indefinitely—”

“Yeah, I know you would,” Hank couldn’t help saying.

“Wait, this _has_ happened before? Eric can do magic now?”

“Not magic,” corrected the priest. “Miracles.”

The entire party, Eric included, stared at the priest. "Miracles," Diana repeated flatly. "Eric."

"Well, in the truest sense, our good cavalier did not perform the miracle, but was merely the vessel for our Lord S'plach's power," Fuzel said. "But yes."

Eric sighed. “Can I at least not be sitting on the ground for this conversation?”

~*~*~

They moved to a smaller room off to the side of the main sanctuary, where Drucila could be fussed over by her brother and the other two acolytes could fuss over the rest of the party, but Eric wasn’t actually that much more comfortable. Mainly because even though Hank told only the bare minimum about being possessed at the temple of Haliana, and everyone had allowed them to quickly move on to Drucila’s description of a tall cloaked figure placing a hand on her head and intoning a single word until she was no longer in control of her own body, that didn’t stop any of them from looking at Hank’s red face to Eric’s….probably also red face. This was shaping up to be one of the more mortifying days of his existence.

Also, the priest and acolytes kept harping on the whole paladin thing.

"Okay, so you’re trying to tell us that Eric is a holy knight," Diana said skeptically. " _Eric_."

"I would be offended that you don't think I could be involved in anything holy, except I agree," Eric said, though that did sting a little. It was still true.

Fuzel smiled. "Do you think that holy is the same thing as pious, one like me who prays every hour? Memorizing the parables and scriptures? Or perhaps one of those perfect beings from children's tales, who never commit sin nor error?"

"Okay, maybe not quite that far, but kinda?" said Presto.

“It’s not that we don’t think you’re, you know, good enough,” Sheila said, “it’s just that you don’t seem like the type to swear fealty to a god.”

“Exactly!” Eric threw his hands in the air. “Nobody’s asked me if I want to sign up for this. I didn’t even know this god Splotch existed before today.”

“Perhaps it is better to say that you have the _potential_ to be a paladin, should you choose to accept the call,” said Fuzel.

“What exactly gives Eric that potential, then?” Hank asked.

"Yes, exactly which of my stellar qualities has caused your god Splotch to notice me?"

"It is a matter of the shape of one's spirit."

"The shape. Of my spirit," Eric repeated.

Fuzel nodded. "There is an openness to the spirit of one suited to be a paladin, which other spirits, no matter how good or evil, do not possess."

"That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever," Eric said.

The priest frowned thoughtfully. “Well, let’s see, how would a stuffy scholar explain the whys and wherefores of gods…. You all hail originally from another world, quite different from this one, do you not? One where power works quite differently from here?”

“Yeah,” said Bobby. “Magic doesn’t work there at all.”

“Well, the gods hail from yet another realm of existence, and thus their power is not only immense, but so fundamentally different from that of a wizard’s magic that it is almost completely incompatible with our world.”

"So it's like mixing oil and water?" Sheila said.

"Or vinegar and baking soda," said Presto. "With a big kaboom!"

“Something like,” Fuzel agreed.

“Okay, but there weren’t exactly any explosions when we, um, were possessed,” Hank said. “What made the difference?”

“There are two main ways for a god to safely blend its powers with those of this world.” Fuzel gestured at the temple. “One is to slowly imbue a place or object with holy properties through rituals and prayers, though the power is often subtle and usually limited. The other,” and now he gestured at Eric, “is to channel the power through a paladin. Think of it like combining oil with vinegar. They don't completely mix, but they combine well enough to make something more palatable."

"What does that make me, salad dressing?" Eric demanded. "Are you coming up with metaphors on an empty stomach?"

“Now that you mention it,” Fuzel said cheerfully, “it is getting rather close to suppertime.”

“I could bring some supper from the inn— oh no, the chicken’s probably burnt by now!” Drucila started to stand up, but her brother pushed her back down.

“Stop worrying about taking care of people for five minutes, Dru!” Dakcil said. “I won’t let you go out there and get attacked again!”

“At least wait a little while and we’ll go with you,” Hank said.

“Yes, of course….”

“So if the guy that possessed Drucila did it as quickly as she remembers, doesn’t that confirm that he’s a paladin, too?” Presto said.

“It does seem to confirm the messages I’ve received from our Lord S’plach,” Fuzel said. He nodded at Eric. “Just as you have.”

“Okay,” said Diana. "So, metaphors and theology aside, the point is that your enemy is a paladin who can channel a god's powers to hurt or control people, and the only way to stop him is for Eric to channel another god's powers?"

"Essentially," Fuzel agreed. “While a paladin can be defeated through mortal means, it would be near impossible to counter their god’s power by doing so.”

"I would just like to remind people that I've only done this twice," Eric said pointedly, "and I don't know how much practice it takes to do miracles on command."

"You do not command a god," the priest corrected. "It is the god that chooses to grant a miracle through you."

Eric stared. "So in the middle of fighting this other paladin, I'd have to ask the god Splotch for a miracle, and then he might say NO?" Fuzel nodded. "That's it, we're screwed."

“No, you can do it, I’m sure,” Drucila said, touching his hand across the table.

Eric held back a grimace. “Glad somebody’s got some faith in me.” There was nothing mystical about the twisting in his gut now, though; it was just good old-fashioned nausea.

~*~*~

Drucila asked Eric and Diana to escort her back to the temple and make sure everyone else was safe there. Hank stayed to guard the temple with Bobby while Sheila and Presto searched the village for any sign of the evil paladin or other enthralled victims.

As the sun set, fishing boats pulled onto the shore, and the fishermen stopped by the temple to give their offerings of seafood and bits of coral, and have the priest Fuzel pray over them. The acolytes cooked enough of the fish to feed the whole party, along with the bread that Drucila sent back with Diana and Eric, and while they ate they went over what they found, which was mostly a whole lot of nothing. No hint of the paladin remained at the inn, and there was no place in the small village large enough or secluded enough for a stranger to hide. “He must be hiding in either the forest or the ocean,” Sheila said.

“The sea is strongly tied to our lord S’plach, and would not take kindly to a servant of Freni,” Fuzel commented.

“Then we’ll start searching the forest tomorrow, see what we can find,” Hank said. “I don’t think there’s much else we can do tonight, except guard the temple.”

“What if someone else in the village gets attacked or possessed?” Dakcil asked nervously.

“If that happens, they’ll probably still wind up coming to the temple, so we’re better off not spreading ourselves too thin,” said Presto.

“We did promise Drucila we’d check on her again,” said Eric.

“You just don’t want to give up those beds,” Diana said. “You should stay here and practice communing with your god, Mister Paladin.”

“Very funny.” Eric picked at the last of his supper a bit more, then quietly excused himself. Hank took a big bite of his bread to keep from saying anything he’d regret. He could hardly blame Drucila for clinging to Eric, after all she’d been through, and it wasn’t like he had any right to get in their way. He was still kicking himself over letting his irritation, and yes, jealousy, get in the way of even noticing something was wrong.

After supper, Fuzel knelt at the altar to perform the miasma-banishing ritual. It seemed pleasant, but Hank was still uncomfortably reminded of his last “pleasant experience” at a temple. It was easier to patrol outside, walking around the temple and listening for any sounds of disturbance that might be heard above the ocean waves.

When he finally came back inside, the sanctuary was dark save for a single lamp over the altar, and at first Hank thought he was alone, until a rustle from one corner had him turn to see Eric standing by the altar, leafing through the sacred texts.

"I thought you were with Drucila," Hank said stupidly.

“Nah, Diana volunteered to go check on her, and I’m still trying to figure out if that was a euphemism—” Eric blinked and looked up. "Uh. Hi."

Hank could feel his face burning. "Oh, uh, I'm sor-- I didn't-- I was just leaving." He started backing down the aisle.

"You don't have to," Eric said. He looked back down at the book. "I mean, whatever you want. Doesn't matter to me."

Hank wondered briefly if it was even possible for Eric to stop being so confusing. He stepped a bit closer. "So what does the holy scripture say?"

"Heck if I know, I can't read any of it. Some secret language or something." Eric closed the book. "Probably the usual stuff about doing unto others and giving unto your god."

"Maybe a parable about the oysters and the seaweed," Hank suggested.

"And a great prophecy about the end times, when everything gets destroyed except the true believers, who all get turned into mermaids and live happily ever after under the sea," Eric added.

"I'm having trouble imagining you as a mermaid-- or merman," Hank said. Which was only partly true, because he suddenly had a very clear vision of Eric swimming through the water, chest glistening... He cleared his throat and made sure the pulpit was blocking Eric's view of certain anatomical areas.

Eric let out a short bark of bitter laughter. "Yeah, no way I'd be part of their watery afterlife."

"Really? I'd think the paladin would be leading the way."

"This paladin thing is a joke!" Eric snapped. “I swear it seems like our entire life in this world has been a series of lessons about not getting too full of myself, and now I’m suddenly worthy of being a hero for a god?”

Hank looked at Eric, and thought about how much they’d all changed in the past few years. How many of those changes had they not even noticed happening? Eric had long since gone from the entitled brat who complained and tried to get out of his share of the work at every turn, to the warrior who— well, still complained, but who went ahead and did what needed doing even as he griped about it. And honestly, the complaining was pretty entertaining sometimes… “I think you’re plenty worthy,” Hank said, which was… a lot weaker than what he really wanted to say.

Eric grimaced. "Okay, if you're going to give a pep talk, I'm done here."

"What do you expect me to say?" Hank demanded. "That I expect you to fail? Because I don't. You didn’t fail Drucila. Or me.”

“Yeah, a whole two times, I’m so reliable,” Eric muttered.

“Hey.” Hank poked Eric in the shoulder. “There are a lot of words I’d use to describe you. Loud, sarcastic, obnoxious…” brave, hot… “but unreliable isn’t one of them.”

Eric snorted, but a corner of his mouth quirked up. “Easy on the flattery there, buddy.”

“I’m just saying. Like it or not, you've become somebody people can count on."

"Since when?"

"Since-- I don't know." Hank threw up his hands. "Since we all decided to stay in this world, at least. Probably longer. But I-- we've been counting on you for a long time now."

"No pressure or anything," Eric muttered.

Hank took a deep breath. “Look, uh, about earlier, I’m—”

“Okay, you know what, I’ll take the next watch, you should get some sleep if we’re going villain hunting tomorrow,” Eric interrupted. He shoved the book back onto a small shelf and brushed past Hank.

“Eric!”

“I just, I’ve hit my limit on talking about feelings today, so can we please just agree that we were both kinda stupid and move on?”

 _Feelings aren’t stupid_ , Hank wanted to insist. Wanted to demand Eric not just shove things away, actually admit what he wants. But that wasn’t something he could force, and it probably wasn’t fair to ask when all this paladin stuff was being thrown at him. “Yeah, okay.”

Eric paused at the door. “But, uh, thanks.”

“Sure,” Hank said. “Anytime.”

~*~*~

Eric woke up to the sense of something wrong. Something other than the fact that, despite those comfortable beds at the inn, they were sleeping on the floor of the temple in order to be on hand for the evil paladin's next attempt. (He’d tried sleeping on one of the benches instead, but they were so narrow that he kept rolling off.) Maybe it was just the criminally early hour; the sun wasn’t even up yet, but he could already hear the sound of someone up and about. He pried his eyes open and saw Diana standing watch at the door, and the priest making his way to the altar. “Great, time for more rituals, yay,” he mumbled.

Fuzel turned and smiled. “Would you care to join me?”

“Thanks, but praying’s really not my thing.” It was probably rude of him to say that, but it was way too early to be a good paladin. If that was even possible for him.

“You need not join in the litany,” Fuzel said, “but if you would sit with me, I would be glad of the company.”

“……Okay, sure,” Eric said. He didn’t feel like he’d be getting back to sleep any time soon anyway. He settled in beside the priest and looked at the knobbly piece of wood on the altar. “So what makes this stick so holy, anyway?”

“It is the last remnant of the ship that Flauph, the first paladin of S’plach, sailed upon. The rest of the ship was destroyed in the raging storm of our god’s power, but this piece carried Flauph safe to shore, and she served S’plach thereafter, performing many miracles in his name.”

“Wait, Splotch _sank_ her ship and she _still_ decided to follow him?” Eric said incredulously.

“The full tale is rather more complex,” the priest admitted. “And the experience of those who lived through it even more so, I imagine.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Eric muttered. “You had to be there to understand, sure.”

“Oh, I don’t know that they necessarily understood things better,” Fuzel said. “I’ve been a great many places that I did not understand at all.”

Eric laughed shortly. “That makes two of us.”

“I suspect most beings in any realm would also agree,” Fuzel said with a smile. He held his hands over the relic and started a deep, low chant that was almost more of a hum than actual words. If he let himself, Eric could feel a power building up, being drawn through the scrap of wood…

“Eric, look out!”

Eric looked up just long enough to glimpse a shadowy figure high above them, and yanked Fuzel out of the way just in time to avoid another poisoned dagger, which clattered against the altar. Di threw her javelin across the room to strike the attacker, who was hanging from one of the high windows. He leaped into the rafters to dodge the javelin, and hung there like a person-sized frog. An amulet with an evil-looking sigil swung from his neck, and his eyes were hard and empty.

Eric scrambled to retrieve his shield and sword, which he had left laying against the wall like an unarmed _idiot_ , what was the matter with him? “Rise and shine, team!” he shouted, and got his shield over Fuzel just in time to block a glob of something truly noxious. “Did it just _spit_ —” The glob slid to the floor and started eating at the stones like acid, and Eric winced at the thought of what that would do to flesh. "Come down here and I'll find you some breath mints," he called up, but the thrall just hissed. "Okay then," he muttered, already trying to figure out how to reach the guy without having to throw his main weapon. "Hard way it is."

The thrall crawled through the rafters, and Eric turned in place to keep his shield between it and the priest. Diana retrieved her javelin and was now extending it to try and reach the ceiling, but the rafters kept getting in the way, and she had to backflip to avoid another glob of acid spit.

A golden bolt arced through the air and pinned the frogman’s sleeve to the ceiling. “About time you showed up,” Eric said, but he couldn’t help grinning at Hank.

"We can't all be morning people," Hank said with a smile. Sheila, Bobby, Presto and Uni gathered next to him, weapons at the ready. Too bad most of those weapons were close-range.

"Presto," said Hank, keeping his bow trained on the struggling thrall, "can you get him down from there?"

"I'll try." Presto reached into his hat and pulled out a stepstool too short to do any good, then a fishing pole.

“You need to get somewhere safe,” Eric said to Fuzel. “Make for the other room, we’ll cover you.”

“I must finish the ritual first,” Fuzel said urgently.

“I think it can wait until we’ve made sure this guy won’t turn you into soup!”

“But the longer we wait, the stronger Freni’s evil power—”

Presto conjured up a lasso, of all things, just as the thrall slid free of the pinned coat and used it to swing to one of the windows. Diana grabbed the lasso, flung it around the thrall’s ankle, and yanked. He landed on the ground with a thud and a yelp, and they quickly wrapped the rope around his arms and legs. Even bound, the thrall writhed and screamed on the ground, and bits of acid trickled from his mouth; Diana pinned him with her staff while everyone else backed a safe distance away. “Okay, Eric, do your stuff.”

"Oh, goody," Eric said. He took a deep breath of mostly-clean air, walked over to where the thrall lay, and gingerly knelt, trying to keep his knees out of the oily puddle that was pooling under the man and just ew, no, not thinking about where that was coming from. Or about how everyone was _watching_ him; even the acolytes were crowding in the doorway to get a look. _Just get it over with, cavalier_. He steeled himself, grabbed the guy's face and held him still, and said, "Be free."

Immediately the man stilled, and lay back with his eyes closed, panting. He blinked up at Eric and whispered, "Where am I?"

"Yes!" cheered Bobby. "Way to go, Eric!" He started to run forward, but Hank grabbed his arm at the same time that Eric held up a hand and shouted, "Wait!"

Eric glared down at the man. "Really? That is just about the oldest trick in the book. It's up there with saying your shoelaces are untied."

"So it didn't work?" Hank said.

"Did it feel like it worked?" Eric demanded.

"I don't know! It doesn't exactly feel the same from the outside as it did firsthand!" he snapped.

"Well, it didn't!"

"Can you try again?" asked Sheila.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Eric grabbed the thrall's face again, closed his eyes to block out the unnatural smile taunting him, and tried to focus. "Be free." No dice. He could feel the tight little ball of power in his gut, waiting to do its godly magic, but no matter how hard he tried to push it out, something was in the way, damming it up.

"I know he's not as pretty as Dru or Hank," said Diana, "but he still doesn't deserve to be a thrall."

"Not. Helping," Eric gritted out, shoving down a surge of terror because that was a _horrible_ idea. _Please don't tell me I can only perform miracles with people who turn me on, that could get really really awkward..._

"Maybe you need a specific gesture?" Presto suggested.

"I didn't the last two-- augh!" Eric jerked back as the thrall suddenly lunged for his face. Acid from the man's mouth was dribbling down and eating through the ropes, which rapidly snapped away, and the thrall darted free and leaped to a rafter, where his cackle echoed throughout the room.

"These are the best heroes your false god can come up with?" the man sneered. "My lord Tyranos will have no problem defeating you!"

"His name is Tyranos?" Eric repeated. "Really? I know this world tends towards melodrama, but this is ridiculous even for us."

The frogman growled, then spat a glob of acid at another rafter. Eric just managed to get his shield up over all of them before the heavy beam fell.

~*~*~

Hank coughed and squinted through the settling dust. It looked like the rafter had taken a whole chunk of the wall down with it, and their attacker was long gone. “Everyone okay?”

“Fine,” said Bobby, and the others echoed agreement.

Except for Eric, who just said, “ _Shit_.”

Hank spun around, heart in his throat, and saw Eric kneeling over the priest, who was crumpled at the edge of the rubble. “Is he—”

“Still breathing, but he hit his head pretty hard, and I don’t know what else is broken…”

“I thought he was behind the shield with us,” said Presto.

Eric shook his head, moved back and let the acolytes take his place. “He was trying to get to that stupid piece of wood.” He gestured at what was left of the altar, now buried under a pile of stones and plaster. 

“It’s not a stupid piece of wood!” Dak retorted, cradling Fuzel protectively.

“It’s not worth his life, either!” Eric snapped.

After a moment, Hank realized that the hissing sound he heard was the remnants of acid eating away at stone and wood. “Is there something we can do about this acid?”

Presto waved his hand over his hat and pulled out a box of baking soda. “Huh. Well, acids and bases, worth a shot.”

“Didn’t we just talk about those being the ingredients to science fair volcanoes?” Hank said doubtfully.

“It’ll make a mess, yeah, but it should stop the acid from dissolving everything…”

Presto started sprinkling the baking powder, and the rest of them started moving enough of the stones to clear a space around the priest, and make sure it was safe to move him. Diana started to lift away one of the stones, then hissed and clutched her arm. “Just a few drops of acid,” she said at Sheila’s concerned look. “Guess I got splashed when the ropes snapped loose.”

“We still shouldn’t just ignore it,” Sheila said. She snagged a handful of baking soda from Presto’s box and gently dabbed it onto Di’s arm.

Eric was quiet, jaw tight as he helped the acolytes move Fuzel onto a pallet. “I still have faith,” Dakcil told him. “Our god told Fuzel that you would save us, so I know you won’t fail.”

“Shows what you know,” Eric muttered.

"Hey, Uni, get away from there!" Bobby ran over to where the unicorn was nosing at something half-under the rubble, then bent and picked something up. "Check this out, guys!" he shouted, waving a piece of parchment around.

Eric snatched it out of Bobby's hand before it could smack him in the face. "Is this a map?"

Hank looked over Eric's shoulder. The parchment was covered in dust and smudged, but some symbols and rough drawing could still be made out. "Did that thrall drop it?"

"It’s sure not mine." Eric frowned and turned it upside down. "It's a really terrible map."

"At least you can tell it's a map," Presto said, joining them. Diana and Sheila were close behind, having quickly wrapped Diana's arm.

"Why would a possessed person even need a map?" Sheila asked. "Wouldn't the god just make him go where he wanted?"

"Maybe it was an old map," Diana suggested.

"Or maybe," Hank said slowly, "he needed the map because he wasn't actually possessed."

"You think he was a willing minion?" Presto said.

"It would explain why Eric couldn't exorcise him."

"Well, it's _one_ explanation," Diana said skeptically.

"What do you mean by that?" Eric demanded.

"Look, no offense, but regular magic is hard enough to be consistent with," said Presto. "But with miracles, you're pretty much depending on the whims of a god for anything to work."

"You think I asked for that?"

"But if Hank's right, then how can we tell if someone is really possessed?" asked Sheila. "If we get it wrong, we could wind up either hurting an innocent person, or getting a mouthful of acid in the face next time."

"Whatever the reason it didn't work, we can't just sit around letting small fry wear us down," said Diana. "We need to pull this out by the roots and go after this dark paladin himself."

"And I bet this map will tell us how to find him!" Bobby said.

"You could be right," said Hank, "but first we need to figure out a strategy that we can count on working every time." He almost didn't notice Eric's flinch.

"Yeah," Eric said tightly. "It's about time you stopped trying to count on me."

"That's not what I--" Hank tried to say, but Eric cut him off.

"Just save it. We all know what you really meant." He started to walk away; Hank grabbed his arm.

"I just meant we need to have a backup plan--"

"--in case I can't do it, I know, you don't have to try to make me feel better--"

"Dammit, Eric, it's not all about you!"

Eric stared at Hank long enough for the Ranger to regret his outburst, then shook off his arm. "Obviously." He stalked out of the temple. This time, Hank didn't try to stop him.

~*~*~

When Eric finally calmed down enough to pay attention to his surroundings, he found that he'd walked all the way down the bluff to the beach. It was empty save for a couple of birds and a lone old beachcomber walking in the distance. The sand was nearly white, the sky just barely starting to lighten in the pre-dawn, and the waves brushing the shore a soothing background noise, and all of it just annoyed Eric even more.

"You can't manipulate my mood that easily," Eric snapped at the air, then felt a little stupid, even though the only person around to hear him probably was used to talking to nothing. He kicked at a random shell. It tumbled across the sand and came to a stop a few feet away, upside down, revealing little crab legs wiggling in the air. Eric glared. "Really? I refuse to feel guilty about this. How was I supposed to know you're there when you're all curled up and hidden?" The crab just continued to wave its legs frantically. Eric sighed, picked up the hermit crab, and turned it over. "You're useless," he said. "Not that you're alone in-- ow!" The crab pinched his palm, and didn't let go even when Eric reflexively tried to shake it off. "You ungrateful little--"

"Here, that's no way to get it to let go." The beachcomber, who had definitely been way too far away a minute ago to now be right beside him, took Eric's hand in his own and pulled the little crab loose with a gentle touch to its pincer. "You just have to know how to talk to the fella."

"Yeah, I might as well talk to the gods, I'll get about the same response," Eric muttered. He rubbed his palm gingerly. "It's got a lot in common with the gods, actually. Don't bother to explain why or how to do what they want, or even ask if we _want_ to be called to do their bidding, and then punish us if we get it wrong."

"That's a lot to put on one little hermit crab."

"Well, the crab can't help it," Eric said. "Pretty sure the gods could, if they could just be bothered."

"So you'd like the gods to communicate more?"

"I'd like them to leave me alone!"

“Oh, that’s too bad, seeing as I’m already here.”

Eric finally looked properly at the man. He wore simple homespun clothes of faded grey, rope sandals, and a ratty straw hat, and had a bag made of netting slung over one shoulder. His beard was rather scraggly, his skin as weathered by sun and wind and sea as the driftwood in the temple. And his eyes were not just the color of the sea, but were the very oceans themselves.

“….Oh.”

S'plach smiled, impossible eyes crinkling at the edges.

"Not that I'm complaining," Eric said after a moment, "but how are you not making the planet explode by being here?"

"Are you now the expert on what a deity can and cannot do, that you know more than I?"

"Well, if you can interact with this... plane of existence on your own, why bother trying to work through me?" he demanded. "Just go do your thing and stop leaving me to guess what you want me to do!"

"Maybe I can only do certain things on my own," the god responded. The hermit crab crawled up his sleeve. "Maybe it's easier to work through a mortal. Maybe calling a paladin means there is more opportunity for those of this world to choose what they wish instead of me forcefully imposing my will."

"Maybe you aren't planning to give a straight answer and should just shut up," Eric muttered.

S'plach smiled. "Maybe that, too."

“Seriously, though,” Eric said. “You’ve got a priest that’s been faithfully serving you for longer than I’ve been alive, and he gets rewarded with a concussion while you’re over here trying to recruit a cynical agnostic who’s never deserved or wanted a god’s favor. I don’t know if you’re crazier for thinking I’d make a good paladin, or for thinking I’d want to be one!”

“It’s certainly been quite a journey, seeing if you would grow into the calling,” S’plach said. “Not that the outcome was ever completely certain, but, well… I had faith.”

“Great, the god thinks he's a comedian, too," Eric muttered. “Just how long have you been watching, then? And don’t think that it’s less creepy just because you’re omniscient or whatever.” Though it was hard to feel as creeped out as he probably should; it wasn’t like he hadn’t _known_ something was building inside him all this time, and while he’d been kind of terrified to think about what it meant, it had never felt invasive or threatening.

Not that he was going to go any easier on Splotch because of it.

“Well,” the god said, “time being rather meaningless in the grand scheme of things, I suppose I should say that I first took notice of you when you opened that chest.”

“You mean when I released the Nameless One.” Eric felt chills down his spine at the memory. “Yeah, I really covered myself in glory that time. Letting loose a malicious omnipotent force and then basically running and hiding until it got bored and wandered off, definitely what every god looks for in their chosen warrior. I couldn’t even look at it without needing clean pants.”

“Yet you did look,” S’plach said. “Despite being warned not to gaze upon it, you looked, and you survived.”

“That can’t be your only reason to pick me,” Eric said. “ ‘Stupid enough to look at something that could fry my brain after being told not to’ is a terrible job requirement.”

“Oh, I’m sure we could sit here indefinitely, discussing and dismissing your various qualities,” said the god. “Instead, tell me this: why did you stay?”

"Huh?"

"When you were given the choice between remaining in this world to fight, and returning to the world of your birth, why did you choose this one?"

Eric looked down at the sand and pebbles and stray blades of seagrass. He could have lied or refused to answer or just not said anything, it wasn't as if the god was compelling the truth out of him.

He told the truth anyway. "Because I looked at that portal, and I thought about going back to my dad’s mansion, where my biggest worry would be oversleeping and having to get the housekeeper to write me a note out of class. Everything would go back to normal, and then _I’d_ go back to normal, back to how I used to be, selfish and self-absorbed and…. I didn’t want to go back to that. I don’t want to go backwards.”

S’plach smiled. “Perhaps I, too, do not wish to be what I once was.”

Eric frowned. "I thought gods were supposed to be all timeless and unchanging."

The god arched a sandy eyebrow. "Again, of the two of us, who do you think knows more about deities?"

“Look, it’s hard to consider you an authority on theology when there’s a hermit crab eating your beard,” Eric said. “Anyway, just because I’m apparently the vinegar to your olive oil doesn’t mean I’m going to….”

"Is that what you are?" The question was asked almost absently, but Eric thought there was a weight to it, as if the answer was somehow significant.

"Am I the oil to your vinegar, instead?" he tried. "Or is the whole salad dressing metaphor a big crock like I thought from the start?"

S'plach smiled. "I'm sure you'll figure it out." He patted Eric on the shoulder, looked at something behind him, and was gone.

Eric turned around to see Hank standing a few yards away, shielding his eyes as if he’d been looking directly at the sun, which was only starting to inch above the horizon. He dropped his hand and stared at Eric. “Was that—”

"A god masquerading as a beach bum? Yes." The hermit crab was clinging to his chainmail now; Eric gingerly tried to tug it away without losing any fingers. 

“A…. beach bum,” Hank repeated. 

"Yes.” Eric gave up and let the crab crawl up to his shoulder. “Did you want something?"

At the reminder, Hank stopped staring at the crab and looked back at Eric. "Diana's sick," he said. "We think it’s the poison."

~*~*~

Diana was curled into a ball on her bedroll, Sheila next to her holding her good hand tight while her left hand spasmed. Even from across the room, Eric could see the poison running up her arm, smell the faint stench of rot growing stronger. Off to one side, Presto pulled a bottle of cough syrup out of his hat, swore, and tossed it on a small pile of equally-useless objects: knitting needles, bug spray, and a rainbow-colored teddy bear missing one eye. Behind him, Bobby held Uni and watched helplessly.

"What about Fuzel?" Eric said. “He’s come around by now, right?” The priest was obviously the answer; nobody yet had said anything about whether healing was even part of a paladin's repertoire to begin with.

“He hasn’t woken up,” Hank said quietly. “The acolytes are watching him. He doesn’t seem to be poisoned, but it… doesn’t look good.”

"Oh," Eric managed.

Hank looked at him pleadingly, not asking anything, just so desperately hopeful that Eric had to turn away. "Look, I can't."

"Will it make things any worse to try?"

"Well, now that you've said that it will, are you trying to jinx me?" Eric snapped. His stomach was churning with more than just nerves, though. It was the same unmistakeable pinch of needles in his gut that was rapidly becoming more and more familiar.

He knelt by Diana's shoulder, across from Sheila, but didn't touch her right away. _How do I do this?_ he thought desperately. He couldn't get it wrong this time, this was Diana, who never held back from his sour attitudes, who seemed more alive and strong and real leaping around in a fur bikini than anyone he'd known in blue jeans or three-piece suits. "Be healed," he whispered, but he knew as he said it that nothing would happen. There was no power behind the words, even though the knot of needles in his gut felt like they were ready to pour out of him without any pushing or prodding on his part--

_Oh._

Eric took a deep breath. Gently cupped Diana's face in his hands. Opened his mouth, and then got out of the way.

And the way was open for that power to bubble out of him with a deep, echoing, " _Be healed_."

The light poured through his hands and into Diana, pushing the poison out of her body-- out of her soul, even-- then spilled over to fill the entire room. Eric closed his eyes, but he could still feel the power flowing though him. Both powers, in fact. That was what he hadn't understood before. He wasn't the oil or the vinegar: he was the bottle that mixed the two together into salad dressing. And all he had to do was open himself up and let it pour out.

He opened his eyes. All traces of the miasma and poison were gone from the room; Diana had uncurled from her fetal position and was breathing more easily, the sickly tone gone from her skin; and everyone else was staring at him in awe like-- well. Like he'd just performed a miracle.

Hank was grinning at him, a brilliant smile that put a different sort of knot in Eric's stomach. "You did it," he said softly. Proudly.

Eric tried to wave it off and wound up falling over backwards. "Eh, it was wasn't about me."

"I'd comment on that," Diana rasped, slowly sitting up with Sheila's help, "but that would be pretty ungrateful of me right now."

Eric grinned up at her. "You're welcome."

~*~*~

Much more quickly than Hank would’ve expected after such a start to the day, they were back on track for their original plan to search the forest, now with the map to hopefully help guide them. The only concern was whether some of them should stay behind to guard the temple— Eric was able to heal Fuzel as well, but with the relic smashed to splinters, his ability to pray away the evil paladin’s poisonous attacks was limited. However, the priest insisted that they all go.

“I am not yet completely defenseless,” he said, “but ultimately we must take this small risk to end the threat altogether, else we risk our shield becoming a prison. You will all be needed at the battle to come.”

“Let me guess, you were told in a dream,” Eric said, but it was almost friendly banter compared to the defensive antagonism of the day before, and Fuzel merely laughed.

As they set off down the road, Sheila and Presto arguing over whether a scrawl on the map meant to turn off at this tree or that rock, Eric was unusually quiet. For him, at least, and Hank found himself watching the cavalier more than the path. Eric seemed thoughtful, and he obviously had plenty to think about, but Hank was struck again with the feeling that this Eric, standing at the edge of such a major change, had been changing all along and Hank had just been too oblivious to notice. And he couldn’t help wondering if it meant he was going to be somehow left behind, or if he also hadn’t realized how much he himself had changed.

Okay, maybe _he_ was the one being unusually introspective now.

When they got close to the area marked on the map, Sheila donned her cloak and vanished into the shadows to scout ahead. Hank sidled over to where Eric was sitting on a fallen tree trunk, wiping at some imaginary spot on his shield. "Hey."

"Hey."

“You all right?”

Eric opened his mouth, paused, and finally said, “I think so.”

“…What were you going to say instead?”

“Oh, I don’t know, something sarcastic, but it didn’t seem appropriate.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” Hank asked without thinking. Eric gave him a look, and he flushed. “I’m sorry, by the way,” he blurted out.

Eric blinked. “What for?”

“I, uh, overheard earlier. Some of what you were saying to, um, the god?”

“Oh. How much?”

“I don’t know, mostly the part about why you decided to stay. I didn’t mean to,” Hank said quickly, “but I didn’t think I should interrupt.” Or move, or breathe or otherwise do anything that might draw that attention towards him, and it wasn’t just that Eric had nonchalantly described that awesome, barely-held-back power as a “beach bum”, but that he honestly had seemed comfortable talking to and looking straight at it, and now he couldn’t even meet Hank’s eyes, and what was he supposed to make of the fact that he was harder to talk to than a god?

"Okay, don’t worry about it.” They sat in awkward silence. “So why did _you_ stay, then?" Eric finally asked.

"Me?"

"You. Look, if you're going to listen in on people's private conversations, you have to be prepared to reciprocate."

Hank looked down. "It's gonna sound dumb."

"Good. I think it's your turn."

"...I stayed because everyone else was," he mumbled.

Eric blinked. "You _followed the crowd_?"

"I honestly didn't care which world I was in! I kind of still don't," Hank said. “But one by one everyone said they wanted to stay, and you— you were the last one to say it, but I could see it in your eyes, you’d already decided to stay. And the thought of going back alone, and being the only one who knew what we'd gone through here, all we'd done together, having to explain to everyone back home where we'd been in a way they'd believe, and why no one else came back—" he swallowed. "I just couldn't."

"....That's not dumb," Eric said. "I mean, I never thought about it like that, but now that you've put the idea in my head, it's _terrifying_." He shoved Hank in the shoulder. "Thanks a lot."

Hank grinned in relief and shoved back. "Anytime."

They fell silent again, but it didn’t feel as awkward this time. “So did you ever do the religion thing back home?” Eric said eventually.

“Not really,” said Hank. “I went to my grandma’s church a few times when I was really little, but all I remember is animal crackers and juice, and storytime with little felt pictures.”

“When I was about 8 or so, stepmom number 1 went through a religious phase and dragged me to a bunch of revivals,” Eric said. “They were crowded and hot and the preachers all shouted about fire and brimstone falling on God’s enemies, and calling us to come forward and be warriors of God. I must have walked down those aisles four or five times that summer.”

“You wanted to be a warrior of God that much?” Hank said.

“Hell no, I was just scared of all that fire and brimstone,” Eric retorted. “But afterwards, nothing really changed. Nobody did anything but pretend they were following the rules and judge people who weren’t. Like everything else in life, just a bunch of fancy words to make people feel better than anyone else.” He picked at some moss on the log. “So I figured that the whole fire and brimstone thing was nonsense, and so was being a hero, and who needed that anyway.”

“And then we all got pulled here,” said Hank.

Eric snorted. “Yeah, and we’ve seen plenty of fire and brimstone.” He stood up as Sheila appeared nearby. “So maybe the hero thing’s not such a crock either.”

~*~*~

“Well, I found the clearing, right where it’s marked on the map,” Sheila said. “The bad news is, this evil paladin’s got a small army with him.”

“Oh, well if it’s only a _small_ army,” Eric said.

“Yeah, we can take ‘em!” said Bobby, much more sincerely.

“At least forty thralls,” Sheila continued, sketching out their positions in the dirt, “though judging by behavior, five to eight of them could be willing minions. There’s also some kind of miasma or poison gas filling the clearing, I couldn’t get too close.”

They all looked at Eric, who held up his hands. “I don’t want to say I couldn’t, but I don’t know how I’d do a miracle that’s not directed at a person.”

“It’s probably better for you to keep your focus on Tyranos,” Hank said. “Defeating him might get rid of the miasma too.”

“But we’ll still have to get through it to get to Tyranos,” Diana said.

“I have a few ideas I could try,” Presto said.

“I don’t suppose there’s any good news?” said Eric.

“Well, they don’t seem to be expecting us, and it looks like the Tyranos guy has a nice big throne right smack in the middle of the clearing, where everyone can see him.” She rolled her eyes. "You definitely had a point about the melodrama, Eric. This guy makes Venger look subtle."

"Sounds like a nice big target, to me," Hank said, patting his bow.

"You'd think so," Sheila said, "but there are all these big spiky bits that get in the way. You'll have to find just the right angle for it to even be worth a shot." Bobby laughed, and Hank couldn’t help but smile too.

“I’m betting you’ve got the perfect angle in mind already.”

“That’s a sucker bet,” Di said.

Sheila grinned and drew an X to one side of her sketched clearing. “There’s a tree here that you should be able to climb pretty high into.”

“Okay, but if you _don’t_ hit him with that shot, you’re going to get his entire army coming after you,” Eric pointed out.

“That could actually be a good thing,” said Hank. “If the rest of you wait over on the other side of the clearing, I could draw enough of them away for you to get that clear shot at Tyranos.”

Eric glared at him. “Except that leaves you facing the army alone!”

“I’ll go with Hank,” Diana said. “Between the two of us and the tree, we should be able to hold them off.”

“I’ll go too,” Sheila said. “You boys can follow the map and wait at the edge of the clearing, and I’ll get wherever I’m needed once the miasma’s taken care of.”

"Great,” said Hank, and Eric nodded grudgingly. “And remember that a lot of these people are just innocent victims. Once Eric breaks Tyranos' hold on them, we should only have to worry about the willing minions."

"We remember," Diana assured him. She tossed her pole, currently baton-sized, from one hand to the other. "We'll save our hardest hits for the ones that deserve it."

"Yeah!" said Bobby.

“Okay, let’s move,” Hank said. They all gathered their gear, and Sheila handed Presto the map and pointed out which direction to go.

Hank turned to Eric. For a moment neither of them seemed to find the right words. Finally Eric clapped him on the shoulder. "Go on, make me unnecessary."

Hank caught his hand before he could pull it away. "Hey. Never that," he said softly.

The tips of Eric's ears turned pink, and he opened his mouth to say something, only Diana cleared her throat beside him and they jumped apart. "Jeez, put a bell on, why don't you?" Eric said.

Diana smirked. “Ready to go, Hank?”

“Yeah.” Hank gave Eric what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and the party split up.

~*~*~

The clearing was barren, and not just in a dry, rocky way; Eric could see shriveled grass and a few wilted, sickly bushes from their hiding place at the south edge of the trees. Minions or thralls of various species were scattered in a rough circle around the enormous, gaudy eyesore of a throne in the center of the clearing, upon which sat a large, ugly lizard-man, who presumably was their foe Tyranos. Sometimes, Eric thought, this realm was incredibly predictable. Then he remembered his own role in this quest and reconsidered that thought.

As they waited for Hank's signal, he went over his own plans in his head: Plan A, get to Tyranos and pull down a miracle. Failing that, lay into the dark paladin with his sword and shield. Failing that.... die a horrible death, probably. Along with all the other people that would die gruesomely if Tyranos wasn't stopped.

He really hoped Plan A worked.

Bobby hissed and pointed, but Eric had already caught sight of the shining arrow arcing over the encampment. They all followed the arrow's flight with bated breath, as it flew unerringly above the heads of the mindless thralls and heartless minions, and watched it strike—

—and glance off one of the spikes sticking out just to the side of Tyranos' big ugly green head. But then the arrow ricocheted off a different spike, and then another, and then off the arms of the throne, leaving behind a web of light that trapped Tyranos on his throne.

"Nice," Eric said approvingly.

"Really cool," agreed Bobby.

"I think that might have been _more_ precise than hitting him directly," said Presto.

And their plan seemed to be working; Tyranos roared some orders, and most of the army surged to the north of the clearing, where more arrows were flying down to trap or pin them down. “And that’s our cue,” said Eric. "Let's see how far we can get before they notice--" Bobby was already racing forward, swinging his club and yelling out a bloodcurdling war cry. Eric rolled his eyes and raced after him, Presto right behind.

Part of the army turned back to face them; worse, the miasma curled in tendrils that seemed to reach for them. "Presto, the smoke!"

"I'm on it!" Presto yelled. "Alakazee, alakazay, blow these poisons out of our way!"

Gusts of wind blew out of his hat and over their heads, pushing the miasma away and around... and around. And around, twisting into tight whirlwinds that spun the poisons away from them, but also careened wildly across the barren clearing. One even grabbed a human minion and tossed him into the air. "Presto, are you controlling these?"

"Uh, sure, I've got it!" Presto shouted. "Just go!"

Eric didn't have a chance to reply, because just then a very tall troll reached him and took a swing. Eric ducked the first swing and brought his shield up for the second, but the troll had the glazed-over eyes of a thrall, and maybe the monster would kill him even if it had a choice, but it didn't. And hitting a troll with the flat of his blade was pretty ineffective on a _normal_ day....

With another bloodcurdling yell, Bobby leaped onto the troll's back, wrapped his legs around its neck, and yanked on its ears. The troll swung back and tried to reach behind him, shake the little barbarian off, but Bobby hung on until Eric was clear, then jumped down and hit the ground with his club, splitting the earth just enough to trap the troll at the knees.

Eric dodged a mace from a more human-sized thrall, then used his shield to barrel down another into a handful that were about to hit Presto, who was too busy controlling the whirlwinds to pull anything else out of his hat. “Bobby, stay with Presto!” Eric shouted, and charged onward. He was almost to the throne…

The next unpleasant face to appear in front of Eric's was a familiar one: the acid-spitting minion from before, now armed with a spear. The man smirked unpleasantly, and yeah, he was definitely enjoying this too much to be a thrall. "Come to die, I see."

"Well, your map made it so easy," Eric retorted, and was pleased to see the minion's face twist in dismay before returning to its usual sneer. So they hadn’t fallen for a way too obvious trap, good to know. Either way, here was one enemy Eric didn't feel guilty about using his blade on. At all. “Why don’t you get out of the way and let me talk to who’s really in charge?”

The minion growled and lunged with his spear. Eric dodged the spear easily enough, but when he tried to close in with his sword, the minion spat large globs of acid which he had to block with his shield, and the minion danced back out of reach. “Haven’t you realized by now how useless your god is?” he taunted.

“Yeah?” Eric said. He tried rushing the minion shield-first, but he dodged to one side and Eric had to quickly pivot to block the spear again. “What’s your god done for you lately?”

“Oh, I’ve been given power you could never imagine,” and maybe it was the way the minion’s hand touched the amulet around his neck, maybe it was the dark sheen to the amulet’s metal, maybe it was a subliminal message from Splotch, but Eric knew exactly what it was.

“There’s nothing imaginative about a magical amulet!” Eric snapped. “Every cut-rate villain in this blasted world has one!”

“This is no mere amulet, this is a holy relic!” he shouted, acid spitting from his mouth. “And once I’ve killed you, I will be rewarded with even more power—”

The minion was so caught up in ranting that he didn’t notice the cord around his neck snapping and the amulet floating away until it was out of reach. “Eric!” The amulet flew through the air, and Eric swung his sword to slice it neatly in two.

“Relic schmelic,” Eric said. “More like cheap junk jewelry.”

The minion screamed and lunged— then toppled over as his head met the pommel of Sheila’s dagger. "Idiot," she said as he crumpled to the ground.

Eric saluted her with his sword— well, saluted the air, since she hadn’t dropped her cloak. "Glad you're on my side."

“You should be,” Sheila said.

Just then a furious roar filled the air, and the dark paladin Tyranos broke free of Hank’s golden net and leaped from his throne.

~*~*~

Hank shot another arrow at the thralls below him and swung up to a higher branch just in time to avoid a thrown axe. Below him Diana vaulted over one thrall to drop-kick a woman who was acting very minion-like. From his vantage point, Hank could see most of the clearing: over half the army was pinned down or knocked out or distracted by the whirlwinds that Presto had unleashed. Bobby was covering Presto, Sheila’s effects could be seen all over the clearing, and Eric was fighting close to the giant throne. But the rest of the army was surrounding each of them— he shot at one that was climbing the tree, and it lost its handhold and fell on top of another— and the “mindless thrall” part meant they just kept coming. If Eric didn’t get to the dark paladin soon….

A roar filled the clearing, and Hank looked up in time to see Tyranos literally rip his throne apart to get free of his net. The giant lizard-man landed in front of Eric, and it took everything Hank had to keep from leaping over the thralls waiting to tear him apart and rush to the cavalier’s aid. He’d done his part, now he had to have faith that Eric could do the rest.

It actually wasn’t hard to have faith in Eric.

~*~*~

The other paladin was easily eight feet tall, with yellow-green skin, red hate-filled eyes, and muscles from his neck all the way to his long, thick tail. If the party hadn’t fought and defeated dozens of foes the size of houses over the years, Eric might have felt a little intimidated. As it was, he settled for mildly inadequate.

"How dare you!" Tyranos roared. "You shall pay for killing my most loyal servant!"

Eric just barely kept from offering condolences for the crappy level of his minions. "Uh, he's not dead--" Tyranos grabbed one of the huge spikes that had broken off the ridiculous throne and hurled it at Eric. It stabbed into the ground inches from the unconscious minion’s head. “If you really cared about him, I'd think you wouldn't put him in the line of fire!" The lizard-man hurled another spike with a roar, and Eric deflected it with his shield.

"Can you do your paladin thing without getting face to face?" Sheila said over by his left ear.

"Hell if I know," said Eric. “But I don’t think he’s going to let me get that close.”

“True.” Eric deflected another spike and moved off to one side so that maybe the spikes wouldn’t hit the villain’s own servants, and it was just typical that he was more concerned about that than the villain was. “Okay,” Sheila said, “I’m going to try something. Be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Eric said, not that he expected an actual answer. He was pretty sure she’d already gone.

Tyranos yelped and swiped at the air, then spun and swiped at the other side. Eric bit back the urge to laugh as he charged; the dreaded dark paladin looked more like a cat trying to catch a fly. Tyranos blocked Eric’s sword with another spike and knocked him back, but didn’t notice the rope wrapping around his ankles until he tried to follow up on his attack and landed flat on his face.

Eric did laugh now. “Sheila, you are amaz—”

Then Tyranos exhaled a cloud of poisonous miasma that quickly enveloped them. Eric doubled over coughing and got a giant lizard tail to the face that sent him sprawling. Sheila shimmered into view on the ground next to him as her hood fell back. She was turning blue and having trouble breathing, but what good would healing her do if she just wound up with another lungful of poison?

"Enough!" roared Tyranos. "It is time for you to be crushed like the insects you are! I call upon the mighty powers of the great god Freni, to smite down our enemies, those puny ones which stand in our way, that we might reign over them and they shall know your tremendous wrath!"

As the dark paladin declaimed these words, he raised his mace to the sky, which rapidly filled with ominously dark stormclouds. Eric could feel the poison in the clouds, the venom in the lightning, waiting for the appropriately dramatic signal to strike and rain down upon their victims.

Eric looked at Tyranos, and saw beyond him to his god, a fearsome, malevolent power beyond his comprehension. It was enough to make a grown man fall to his knees and sob for mercy, all right.

Instead he stood and dropped his shield. After all, he had a fearsome power beyond comprehension at his own side. He pointed his sword at the dark paladin and said, in a voice as deep as the sea, " _Begone_."

The word rolled and echoed across the battlefield then surged back at Eric as the dark god let loose its own poisonous power. For a moment Eric was lost in the storm of opposing forces as he instinctively tried to push back. But no, he was just the bottle. All he had to do was pour….

~*~*~

Hank shot another net arrow and took out one of the thralls menacing Presto, but not before it broke the wizard’s concentration and the whirlwinds fizzled out. The poison they’d held at bay joined the new wave of miasma spreading from where Eric had been fighting Tyranos, and unnatural clouds were gathering overhead with ominous cracks of lightning. Hank shoved down a knot of fear and readied another arrow. The dark paladin’s head was visible enough to be worth a shot—if nothing else, maybe he could distract him again….

Except a persistent thrall grabbed Hank’s leg from the other side of tree and yanked him down. Hank desperately grabbed at branches and kicked madly until his boot connected with the thrall’s face. The thrall slipped from her own branch, but didn’t let go of Hank, so now he was hanging from the tree by his arms with her full weight pulling him down—

There was a flash of light, but it was a pure, clear light that was familiar to Hank by now. He blinked and found himself lying on the ground, unhurt, the thrall unconscious to one side, his bow on the other. “Di?” he called.

“Over here,” Di said, sitting on top of a pile of unconscious thralls a few yards away. Her eyes were wide. “Did you see that?”

“Not exactly,” Hank said. He felt oddly guilty about it, that the miracle had happened while he wasn’t looking.

“It was…” Di opened and closed her mouth a few times, then settled for just waving an arm over the clearing. It was completely free of poison and clouds, and grass and flowers were already starting to grow back. Every single fighter was lying on the ground, still unconscious or just starting to look around in confusion.

“Eric?” Hank said.

“Well, obviously.”

“No, do you see him?”

“Not from here, but I’d assume he’s still over by the throne…”

Hank picked up his bow and took off for the center of the clearing.

~*~*~

When Eric came to, he was on his knees, vomiting. _Okay, that's enough pouring_ , he thought dizzily. Nobody mentioned vomiting as a side effect of miracles; he was going to have to file a complaint.

The air was fresh and sweet, not even a trace of the disgusting miasma lingering. Eric could hear some groans that proved at least some people were still alive, and in just a moment he would have the energy to stand up and make sure that his friends were among that group.

Any minute now.

Except before he made it to his feet, Eric was knocked flat on his back, pinned down by Tyranos' massive bulk. "You thought you could win," he sneered, "with your puny god of water and salt? You drain yourself to clear the air, but I can fill the world with the poison of Freni as often as I want. Now die knowing that you have failed them all." Tyranos laughed triumphantly and breathed noxious fumes directly into Eric's face.

However, since said noxious fumes were simply the man's natually-occurring bad breath rather than unholy poison— only figuratively deadly— the effect was a little anticlimactic.

The lizard-man tried again, with similar lack of effect. He raised a hand as if to summon some deadly creature, and nothing happened. Eric could swear he heard a cricket chirping somewhere. Or maybe his head was still ringing from being flung to the ground. "What did you do?" Tyranos whispered.

Eric couldn’t hold back a smirk. "Don't look at me, I'm just the bottle."

Tyranos shoved him back down, a meaty hand wrapping around his throat but not --yet-- squeezing. "What. Did. You. Do," he growled.

"Well, from the looks of things," Eric said, "I'd say your paladin connection to your god has been burned out." He snorted. "When I said _begone_ , you didn't think I was talking to you, did you? Take it from an expert, it is not all about y-- gck!"

Okay, taunting the giant lizard-man with a hand around your throat, not the best idea. Eric tried to pull free, but one arm was pinned, and he didn’t have the strength to break his grip. The god may have been exorcised, but some very physical muscles were still going to mash Eric to a pulp. Tyranos was so caught up in ranting and strangling that he didn’t even notice a finger jab to his eyes. Even when Sheila came up and stabbed him in the side, he didn’t let go— his raving about how Eric had destroyed all his hopes and plans and he would pay did devolve into an incoherent roar, but that might have just been because Eric was starting to black out. _Great, a posthumous victory, just what I always wanted…_

_“Don’t be in such a rush.”_

The next thing he knew, the pressure around his neck was replaced by pressure on his chest and mouth. He gasped and started coughing, and the pressure immediately eased away.

"Oh thank god," someone said from very close by.

"Literally," added someone else.

Eric opened his eyes and looked up at Hank's face, which was only about a foot from his. He blinked as a few puzzle pieces came together. "Did you just give me the kiss of life?"

Hank turned red, but said steadily, "Well, you weren't breathing, it seemed like the thing to do. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Only that I wasn't awake to enjoy it," Eric said. Huh. His brain-to-mouth filter seemed to be completely out of commission. He decided to care about that later.

Hank turned a ridiculous shade of pink. “Well, it wasn’t exactly a real kiss, so you didn’t miss much….” He smiled tentatively. “But we could try again later?”

"Yeah?" Eric couldn't keep a smile off his face, too. At least until a pointed throat-clearing alerted him to the fact that they had an audience. Which was larger than usual by one. He pointed directly-- well, vaguely, but the fact that his arm moved at all in the direction he wanted was a good sign-- at the beach bum god in their midst and said, "If that's a deal-breaker for you, better say so now so I can tell you where to shove it."

Someone (Eric suspected Presto) eeped, but Splotch simply smiled. "Not at all. In fact, I think you two will be good for each other."

"Good for each other," Eric repeated. "You make us sound like spinach or bean sprouts. What is this obsession with turning my life into a salad metaphor?"

Everyone laughed, and Eric could remember how he used to feel like the butt of the joke when everyone laughed, but he didn't feel that way anymore. Now he could feel the relief and joy from surviving another encounter with evil that the laughter sprung from, and if his throat didn't still hurt from nearly being strangled to death, he'd be laughing along with them.

Wait. "What happened to Lizardbreath?" He tried to look around, but he couldn't see any sign of the big ugly brute.

"Hank shot him with an arrow while he was busy choking you and he disappeared!" Bobby announced cheerfully.

“Yeah, I’m not sure what it did, exactly,” Hank said as he helped Eric up.

"Your arrow banished him to the home realm of his god," S'plach explained. "Somehow, I doubt he will be as happy to see Freni face to face as he imagined he would."

Eric snorted. "I'll bet." It was a satisfying thought, as long as he didn’t think about it too hard.

“Well, then!” S’plach said brightly. “Now that everything else is cleared up, there is only one question that remains.”

“What question?” Bobby asked.

“Whether Eric’s going to be his paladin, obviously,” Diana said.

“But I thought he already was!” said Bobby. “I mean, isn’t that how he did all this?” He waved at the clearing, now filled with flowering bushes as well as dazed former thralls and incapacitated minions.

“This?” Splotch said. “This was just getting to know each other.”

Eric snorted. “You know, this is a bit more intense than I usually like for a first date.”

"Uh, Eric?" whispered Presto. "Is that really the right way to talk to a god?"

“If he can’t handle it, then he’s wasting his time with me,” Eric said firmly.

Splotch gave a nod and a shrug. This was just great, Eric was being called to sign on with a god that _shrugged_ , not to mention that he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d snuck a pun in earlier. And at the same time there was all that power that had flowed through him earlier, and the fear that that he would one day let this all-powerful being and everyone who depended on him down.

But Hank still had his arm around him, and didn’t seem inclined to let go. And the god was smiling at him as if he could see beyond Eric’s bravado to his nervousness, and accepted him anyway. Eric slid his hand into Hank’s and looked his god in the eyes. “Go ahead. Ask.”

S’plach’s smile widened. “Eric, will you be my paladin, to carry my power wherever it is needed?”

“Yes.” After everything, it was remarkably easy to say.

S’plach bent down to Eric, even though he could've sworn the god had manifested much shorter, and pressed his lips to his new Paladin's brow. "I accept what is given freely, and may what I offer freely be accepted in return."

There was nothing so obvious as a flash of light; simply a breeze that smelled of the sea, and a faint sense of the tide going out, and the god was no longer there.

Eric still stood there, but other than possibly feeling more centered than he could ever remember feeling, he didn't feel any different. He was even still holding Hank's hand. Which, okay, yes, starting to get a bit ridiculous and it was time to let go. If only because he needed both hands to pick up his shield and sword off the ground. Right. "Okay, then," he finally said, and let go. He bent down to pick up his shield, turned it over, and snorted. "Really?"

"What?"

He held up the shield so that everyone could see his new coat of arms: instead of a horse rampant, a hermit crab with claws spread wide.

"Nice," Hank managed.

"I think it suits you," said Sheila. At least Bobby's snort of laughter was honest.

"Yeah, yeah." He hooked his arm through the shield, picked up his sword— which now had pearls embedded in the pommel, nice— and looked around. "Well, what are we standing around here for? Don't we have a city that needs to know it's saved?"

~*~*~

The city was appropriately grateful to be saved, and to have their missing friends and family returned to them, and immediately set about celebrating with a feast and music and dancing. It was one of the things Hank liked most about this realm, their willingness to celebrate not dying a horrible death.

One of Eric’s favorite things was the warm baths Drucila had prepared for them, if his groans and exclamations of pleasure were anything to go by. Hank had to keep looking away from Eric soaking in his tub. It was harder than usual, because he finally felt like he was _allowed_ to look— but with Bobby and Presto in the room, looking would likely just lead to more embarrassment. At least trying to keep Bobby from doing cannonballs into the tub was a good distraction.

But somehow, when they got back to their rooms in the inn, clean and mostly dry and wearing borrowed robes while grateful villagers washed their regular clothes, Presto steered Bobby and Uni into his room, and Diana and Sheila claimed another, leaving Hank and Eric to take the last room together.

Subtlety was not this party's strong point.

Hank closed the door behind them and looked at Eric, who stood fidgeting with his robe. "So," Eric said. "Paladin. Holy knight of God. This is going to take some getting used to."

"A bit," Hank agreed.

“I don’t feel any different, though,” Eric said. “Shouldn’t I? I still feel like the same old Eric.”

“I think,” Hank said slowly, “it’s kind of like birthdays. You don’t really become a year older overnight, you just grow a little bit every day and don’t realize how much it adds up until you look back. You’ve been changing and moving towards this for a while now, and today is just the day it finally got recognized.”

“That’s pretty insightful,” Eric said. “You should write a book or something.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “See if I try to help anymore.”

“Pssht, you’ll always try to help, you are a stalwart bastion of helpfulness.”

Hank laughed. “Was that a compliment? It’s hard to tell…”

“Shut up,” Eric grumbled good-naturedly. He smiled. “Seriously, though. Thanks.”

Hank blushed. “I mean, we’ve all changed, since we came here, and we’re probably going to keep changing, because that’s life.” He took a deep breath. “But that hasn’t stopped me from falling in love with you, so I don’t mind the changes, as long as we’re changing together.”

Eric stared at Hank, wide-eyed. Hank winced. "Uh. Too soon?"

"Probably," Eric said hoarsely. "You gonna take it back?"

Hank swallowed. Shook his head.

"Good." Eric grabbed Hank by the robe, reeled him in and kissed him.

For a good long minute neither of them could concentrate on anything beyond getting as close as physically possible, lips and tongues tangled together, hands pulling each other even closer, knees sliding between legs. Hank wrapped one arm around the small of Eric's back, and slid the other up his chest and under the collar of his robe. Meanwhile Eric's hands roamed from the back of Hank's neck to his shoulders and hips, then back up to tangle in his hair with a tug that made Hank groan and suck on Eric's lower lip in retaliation.

He just barely managed not to accidentally bite that lip when someone suddenly pounded on the door. "Hey, Hank, when are you and Eric coming out of there? We're all ready to go and the feast is starting," Bobby shouted through the door.

Hank pulled away from Eric's lips reluctantly. "We'll be right-- uh." He stifled a gasp as Eric moved to suck on his throat instead. "Give us a few minutes, okay?"

"Why?" Bobby asked. "Are you having sex?"

"Bobby!" they heard Sheila gasp from outside.

"What? I know what sex is, you guys don't have to make stuff up..."

"Well, you don't just shout it out in public!"

Eric pulled away from Hank with a groan and snapped, "If we say yes, will you all _go away_?"

Hank froze in Eric's arms, and waited for someone to move or say something or for dragons to spontaneously attack because that was something that happened to them far too often. But after a moment, Bobby just said, "Okay, but you better hurry before all the pie’s gone!”

“We’ll take our chances,” Hank managed.

"We'll save you some salad," Presto said cheerfully. Hank snickered at the look on Eric’s face.

“Have fun, you two,” Diana called, and then they were all clomping down the stairs to the party.

Hank and Eric stared at each other a moment, and then they both started laughing. "Oh, god, I just realized," Hank gasped out, "one of us is going to have to give Bobby the sex talk."

"Us? Why can't Sheila do it?" Eric demanded.

"Would _you_ want the sex talk from your sister?" Hank said. "And there's not exactly a sex-ed class here, unless you think Dungeon Master--"

Eric clapped a hand over Hank's mouth. "Are you _trying_ to turn me off sex forever?"

"I sure hope not," Hank said, daring to slide a hand down to Eric's belt.

Eric groaned. "Okay fine, we will tell him all about the birds and the bees, but can we please worry about it later?"

Hank grinned and let Eric pull him down onto the bed. "Deal."

~*~*~CODA~*~*~

Some time later, Eric said smugly, "I knew this would be better in a real bed."

"Say what?" Hank said with a sleepy laugh.

"Come on, don't tell me you preferred rolling around in the dirt."

"I didn't say that." Hank rolled over and nuzzled under Eric's ear. "But are you sure you want to give the bed all the credit?"

"Maybe not all," Eric allowed. "After all, my own natural talent can only increase—" His voice jumped an octave as Hank's fingers brushed over his nipples.

Hank smirked and slowly swept his hand lower. "Should I just let you take care of things yourself, then?"

Eric shivered under Hank's gaze and touch, as his dick gradually started taking interest in the proceedings again. While it was true that the last time had been significantly more comfortable and less awkward than their first— both physically and emotionally— it had been just as desperately, frantically fast. This was something different: a slow exploration that was less about getting off and more of an affirmation of... them.

Heart in his throat, Eric slid his own hand up Hank's arm and along his collarbone. "Why don't you put your money where your mouth is," he said hoarsely.

Hank's expression shifted from amusement to his determined look, and Eric could probably love him for that determination alone, nearly blurted it out then and there, because having that look focused on him was exhilarating to say the least. "My mouth, huh?" he said. "Okay then." And he started sliding down Eric's body, kissing and licking and sucking as he went. Using _only_ his mouth, because he was a damn show-off.

"Typical Ranger," Eric managed to say as Hank sucked around his belly button. "Got to take everything so liter-- oh god!"

Hank paused and looked up, wide-eyed, from where he'd just run his tongue up the side of Eric's erection. "Please tell me you're not going to accidentally summon him."

"Oh, _hell_ no," Eric said, because that was a horrifying thought and just _no_. "If he ever shows up in the middle of this, I'm excommunicating him."

“Can you excommunicate a god?” Hank asked. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Then I’ll excommunicate _myself_.”

Hank laughed, and then they were both laughing together, and even though Hank was sprawled on top of Eric's hips and thighs, it felt natural and good and _right_. And suddenly what Eric wanted, even more than a blow job, was to trap that laughter between them forever. So he tugged on Hank until he took the hint and came forward enough to kiss him.

"Was it that bad?" Hank said into his mouth, but he obliged and didn't stop kissing.

"Don't worry," Eric said when they paused for breath. "You can practice later."

“Jerk.” Hank licked into Eric’s mouth, and Eric whimpered because _damn_ but the boy could _kiss_. Then Hank pulled away and whispered, "I'd like to see you do better."

“Oh, you will,” Eric promised. He had a long list of things he’d been trying not to think about doing with Hank, and that was near the top. “But for now, can we just… stay here? Together?”

Hank smiled. “Of course.” He shifted them onto their sides and took them both in his hand. Eric wrapped his own hand over Hank’s, and pressed kisses into whatever part of Hank he could reach— lips, jaw, forehead, throat, lips again— while they stroked together. Hank came first, gasping Eric’s name into his ear, which sent Eric tumbling breathlessly over the edge.

“Together is good,” Eric said into Hank’s skin, and smiled when Hank pulled him closer in response. “I like together.”

It wasn’t quite “I love you, too,” and maybe it was a little ridiculous to balk at that after all the other momentous declarations that day. But like Hank had said, change happened a day at a time.

Eric didn’t think that day would be too far off.

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus: my working playlist for this included "Battle Dancing Unicorns" and "Against a Sea of Troubles" by Five Iron Frenzy, and lots and lots of Dragonforce. I might include links if anyone is interested.


End file.
